"I suppose King Street wore its usual afternoon dress of dudes and sealskin sacques," he said, drawing her wrap from her shoulders.
"I suppose so; but we only went as far as Roche's. What a world of a place it is. Mrs. Francis says, 'One can buy everything but butcher's meat there,' and she is about right. The up-cars were, as usual, over-crowded; we were to blame for taking one, I suppose, as so many poor fatigued-looking men were obliged to stand. However, we were sorry for them in a practical way, for we only occupied one seat by turns; the company should run extra cars about six, or label them, 'For men only.'"
"On the other side," said Mrs. Dale, "men say it's a poor rule that won't work both ways, so, as we advocate equal rights, they, as a rule, don't yield their seats."
"Is that so?" said Blair. "I wonder at that, for Mrs. Gower tells me there is a shrine to woman in every house."
"Oh, never mind her, she is our champion, fights and wins our battles. I used to hope she would marry among us, and strut under our big bird; but alas, she sees more beauty in a common Scotch thistle," she says, teasingly.
Blair smiled, gravely, saying with his eyes on Mrs. Gower, in her pretty, dark blue gown, with broken plaid over-skirt,
"I fear not; to the shamrock she plights her troth."
At this the color rushes to the roots of her hair, to as quickly recede, leaving her like marble, and, gathering up her wraps, saying, in unsteady tones,
"Excuse me a moment, I must see what the kitchen is about: it is near dinner time."
Blair, drawing the hangings, said, wistfully following her into the hall: